


Trainwreck

by PotatoCrisp



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Falling In Love, For the most part, M/M, Slow Build, how do these tags work this is crazy, more like im really slow at writing (bc i dont DO these things)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-22
Updated: 2018-01-02
Packaged: 2018-05-22 07:27:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 17,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6070444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PotatoCrisp/pseuds/PotatoCrisp
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I’m not a babysitter” MacCready tells him, but he’s halfway through the motion of pocketing the caps and the stranger smiles like he knows he’s won.<br/>“Well good thing I’m not looking for a babysitter, then.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Onboarding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’m not a babysitter” MacCready tells him, but he’s halfway through the motion of pocketing the caps and the stranger smiles like he knows he’s won.
> 
>  
> 
> “Well good thing I’m not looking for a babysitter, then.”

“I could use a guide around Goodneighbor. Someone who knows the sights.” Says the stranger in front of MacCready, tone of voice surprisingly level for a man who’s just bought himself a hitman.

He’s a few inches taller than MacCready himself and broader in stature, though the barely healed blisters on his otherwise unblemished hands tell MacCready enough; he’s new to a gun. And his well-coiffed hair suggests he hasn't been in any particular danger recently, which is new to the people who usually come by The Third Rail. Why someone this pampered would need a hired killer, MacCready doesn’t know, but the caps are real and - although not the full amount he initially demanded - more than he’s had in his hand in weeks. 

“I’m not a babysitter” MacCready tells him, but he’s halfway through the motion of pocketing the caps and the stranger smiles like he knows he’s won.

“Well good thing I’m not looking for a babysitter, then.” the man says, before turning on his heel to leave. He stops abruptly and turns back to face MacCready who is currently unsure whether or not that was his cue to follow. He’s met with an outstretched hand which he carefully grasps in a firm handshake after a moment’s pause.

“I’m Dakota, by the way,” the man, _Dakota_ , looks slightly sheepish, like he’s embarrassed at not properly introducing himself to the man he’s just hired to kill for him. “And Whitechapel Charlie said he’s got a few warehouses around town that need cleaning, if you’d like to join.”

 

 

 

MacCready’s no fool, he knows any “cleaning” in Goodneighbor involves washing the floor with blood. Dakota seems to have anticipated this, but has a look of uncertainty on his face as the bobby pin clicks into position in the lock and the first warehouse door swings open slowly. In the back of his mind MacCready wonders what kind of person holds a gun like it’s going to bite them but is able to pick a lock in a few seconds flat. But he isn’t being paid to be interested in Dakota’s background. 

What he _is_  being paid for is the bullet he lodges in the shoulder of the triggerman right inside the door. Dakota rolls into cover and slowly loads a round into his pistol like he’s reciting instructions in his head of how to do so. After a moments pause between the first assailant falling and the second making it to the bottom of the steps to the second level of the warehouse, MacCready has loaded another bullet into his rifle and Dakota is popping off three shots straight into another triggerman’s chest. It’s a relief to see that he at least knows how to aim and shoot, MacCready thinks as he turns to move at a crouch towards the stairwell.

He barely takes a step before he’s yanked backwards by a hand on his shoulder. His companion is studying the pipboy on his wrist, before he meets MacCready’s eye, points at the ceiling and shows him two fingers. There are still two waiting upstairs. MacCready nods and makes to move again, but the hand returns to his shoulder and holds him back a second time. Dakota mouths the word “cover” to him, and though he has no idea what his new boss has planned he’s fine with being ushered into a safer lookout. He slides behind an overturned table, setting up his rifle with a clear view of the stairwell.

Dakota seems satisfied with this and picks up a large, jagged piece of concrete that’s lying amongst the debris on the floor. He inches to the side of the stairwell, where he’s out of sight of someone rounding the platform to come down from the upper level, and lobs the concrete at the wall of the stairs, where it makes a loud clattering noise before rolling down a few steps and resting in front of the table MacCready is stationed behind.

 

Glancing at his pipboy again, Dakota is readying his gun, and the sounds of hushed whispers from the upper level float down the cramped stairwell. Drawing MacCready’s attention, Dakota waves one finger at him. Only one is going to investigate the noise. Of course. MacCready returns his focus to the scope of his gun, and the second he gets a clear view of the triggerman’s face as he rounds the stairs he fires a bullet straight through his throat. He’s dead before he even hits the floor.

Launching from his position beside the stairwell, Dakota rounds the steps two at a time and before MacCready even has time to grab his rifle he hears another triad of shots firing off and a wet gurgle. The relief on his companion’s face when he catches up to him (and finds him searching the bodies for caps, because no one in the Commonwealth is too well off for extra caps), tells MacCready that they’re done here. Time for the next stop on Whitechapel Charlie’s list.

At the second warehouse, Dakota seems to have developed a rhythm with his pistol, like he’s not thinking about every shot so carefully. And by the time they cleared the last location Whitechapel Charlie marked for them, he’s gotten bolder too, leading them through the floors instead of hiding out of the way or staying shoulder to shoulder with MacCready.

There’s a bottle of wine, a mattress and some rickety wooden chairs on the upper level of the last warehouse, and a crackling radio playing at an inconsistent volume. Dakota sags into one of the chairs and pops the cork out of the wine with a small knife, taking a gulp and holding the bottle out to MacCready like a peace offering. He seems distraught and MacCready isn’t one for unnecessary chat, but the silence after all the gunshots ringing in his ears is starting to become unsettling.

“Was that the tour of town you were expecting?” MacCready asks and Dakota’s head snaps up like he forgot MacCready even had a voice to begin with. MacCready takes a swig of the wine and then offers the bottle back to the man before him, who takes it slowly and sets it on the floor next to his chair. Dakota sighs like he’s been holding his breath all evening and lets out a shaky laugh.

“Not the welcome I was expecting,” he says, running a hand through his hair lazily, displacing some of the black strands from their careful part. “But I think I should have realized that when your mayor stabbed a guy in the middle of the street just to make an impression.” He glances over at the empty chair MacCready seems to be avoiding in favor of standing.

“You can sit you know, I think I’ve had enough excitement for the evening.”

MacCready barks out a laugh, and slides into the chair adjacent from Dakota’s.

“Hancock has a particular way of handling things,” he says, watching the drowsy way Dakota is observing him “especially how he handles a knife.”

At this, a sloppy smile finds its way onto Dakotas face and if he opened his mouth to respond MacCready will never know because its interrupted by a loud yawn.

“You know of any place to rest here where I won’t get stabbed?” He’s fiddling with his pipboy, a nervous habit MacCready assumes, and then rises to his feet and starts for the door, leaving the sniper to follow after him.

“I can’t promise about the stabbing bit, but I do know a place.”

 

 

 

They leave out the back door of the warehouse, which empties into an alleyway that smells overwhelmingly of urine and chems. Next to him, Dakota freezes and motions for MacCready to stop. Ahead, a couple members of the neighborhood watch have stopped to chat, and an outsider and a merc trying to slip by them will obviously raise suspicions. MacCready’s about to suggest just holing up in the warehouse until morning, but before the words are even out of his mouth there’s an arm slung around his neck and he’s being dragged forward in lurching steps towards the entrance to the alleyway.

“So you were saying something about a bed and a little stabbing?” Dakota’s breath is hot in MacCready’s ear and his speech is loud and slurred just enough to draw the attention of the neighborhood watch as they approach. MacCready blanks for a second at the sudden change, his companion wasn’t acting like this moments ago when they were passing a wine bottle back and forth and having a casual - if not rather stilted- conversation.

“How much exactly did you drink?” He asks as Dakota knocks a hip into him, causing him to lose his footing and almost stumble past the two members of the neighborhood watch who have paused their own conversation to watch them tumble into the main street. MacCready is almost mad at the lack of self restraint his new employer is showing when the second they round the corner Dakota straightens up and releases him from the vice grip he had had on his neck.

“Nice improvising there, I was worried you would be too uptight to roll with a little acting unprepared.” Dakota says, falling into step with him as they make their way towards Goodneighbor’s inn. MacCready bristles a bit, angry at being underestimated and slightly embarrassed that he truly did almost blow their cover, but remains silent as he leads him through the door of the hotel. As long as he doesn’t have to pay for his own lodgings tonight MacCready can forgive a few backhanded compliments.

The Rexford’s inn keeper eyes MacCready warily as Dakota is fishing enough caps for a room out of his side pocket. As soon as he hands them over she gives them directions and a blunt dismissal, so they make their way upstairs. There’s a ghoul in the hallway who stops abruptly when he sees them and for a second MacCready is waiting for him to pull a gun, it wouldn’t be the first time, but he’s staring at Dakota like he’s seen a ghost and Dakota, MacCready realizes, is frozen in place as well.

“Yo boss,” MacCready starts when the ghoul takes a step closer and mutters something that sounds like “it’s really you” under his breath. Dakota holds the room key out to MacCready and tells him to go ahead, that he’ll be there in a bit. MacCready could care less about staying to hear their conversation, he just hopes his new source of caps doesn’t get himself killed.

It’s a good half hour before Dakota joins him in the room, where MacCready has made himself at home on the couch cleaning his rifle. If the man had looked shaken at the warehouses earlier, then he’s a mess now. He wanders into the room and looks blankly around it for a moment, eyes passing over MacCready and his other surroundings but not necessarily seeing them, before sitting heavily on the bed.

“Old friend?” MacCready prompts and he’s still not entirely interested in Dakotas’s life or sob story (and these days, everyone's got one), but he knows the look of someone who needs to be taken out of their own thoughts for a moment.

“You could say that.” Dakota answers cryptically and when MacCready doesn’t question him more, he starts to explain.

“I’m…god it still sounds so unreal to me but I was frozen. In a vault. Before the bombs dropped.”

MacCready stops cleaning his rifle and sets it next to himself on the sofa. This isn’t the story he was expecting. Son of a mayor or water purification plant owner in need of hired goons for protection, maybe, but definitely not a vault dweller. And certainly not a prewar one.

“And then that was…?” MacCready asks, motioning towards the hallway with one hand. What is some ancient vault dweller doing in the company of ghouls, then?

“He, oh man, he worked for vault tec.” He huffs out a laugh that sounds forced. “He’s the one who got me into the vault and holy shit I didn’t want any part of that. But then the alarms started sounding and what was I supposed to do?” He’s quiet and MacCready doesn’t have an answer for that, couldn’t possibly have an answer.

“Why don’t you get some rest?” MacCready offers instead after a moment of shared quiet and Dakota gives him another sloppy smile like the one from earlier that evening. MacCready assumes that’s his way of trying to hold it together. He personally prefers a cigarette but to each their own.

Dakota strips down to his undershirt and pants before laying down. He’s facing away from where MacCready is still sprawled across the couch so there’s no way of knowing whether or not he’s fallen asleep. As soon as MacCready’s eyes start to drift shut he hears a small creak from the mattress and Dakota’s soft voice fills the silence.

“Ya’ know MacCready, you’re not bad for a guy who’s paid to shoot people.”

MacCready chuckles and settles further into the couch.

“Don’t get used to it, Boss.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is probably going to be incredibly slow moving because this is my first fic ever and I have no idea what I'm doing. I just wanted to share all the nonsense that has happened in my game so far. That being said, feel free to come scream at me on tumblr, [potatocrisp](http://potatocrisp.tumblr.com/), where I'm always babbling about fo4 or drawing Dakota and MacCready.


	2. Acquaintances

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frankly, MacCready would rather be anywhere else than in the middle of this conversation. Even somewhere wet and filled with mirelurks.

The morning starts with a very literal bang.

MacCready shoots straight up on the couch and scrambles for his rifle, before finally taking stock of his surroundings. He’s in Goodneighbor. The Rexford. There’s a man across the room frozen staring at him. The sleep fades from his eyes and he recognizes the face of his new employer, Dakota, watching him from where he’s standing behind the bed.

“What are you doing?” MacCready growls, voice raspy from sleep. Dakota picks something off the floor. The small beams of light that shine through the wooden slats over the windows illuminate the cloth rucksack in Dakota’s hand as he hefts it onto the bed. It makes an odd clanking noise and MacCready squints at him from his vantage point on the couch.

“What the heck are you keeping in there?”

“Supplies.” His companion answers quickly, hoisting the bag onto his shoulder and straightening upright.

“Grab your things we’re heading out soon.”

MacCready doesn’t need to be told to leave Goodneighbor twice. While it’s been the most accepting place he’s been able to bunker down in the commonwealth, he’d hardly consider being amongst the company of chem dealers, criminals and killers to be welcoming. Even if he himself falls into a few of those categories. Grabbing his rifle and pack, MacCready heads out of the room and down into the lobby where Dakota is returning the room key to the inn keeper. At the sight of him, Dakota turns on his heel quickly and ushers MacCready from the lobby of the Rexford onto the crumbling streets of Goodneighbor.

“So where to now, boss?” MacCready asks. There’s a clanging noise again as Dakota shifts his rucksack from one shoulder to the other. He grins and claps MacCready on the shoulder with maybe a little more force and familiarity is acceptable for two men who’ve known each other for a little more than 12 hours.

“The Great Green Jewel, my friend. I’ve got to check in with some old friends.”

 

 

 

That bizarre answer lands them on the doorstep of the Publick Occurrences in the middle of Diamond City. Of course MacCready’s heard of the paper, reads it as often as he can in fact, but he’s never seen the brain behind the words until she’s standing before him, throwing her arms around Dakota and almost completely topples him over with the force of her hug. After a moment of struggling on Dakota’s part, he manages to untangle himself from the writer and take a step back.

“Calm down Piper! I was only gone for a week.” Dakota looks sheepish, but like he’s grateful for the attention he’s being showered with. MacCready wonders what their relationship is. Friends? Lovers?

“And who’s this you picked up, Blue?” Suddenly her bright eyes are on him and in a fraction of a second she’s hovering in front of him with a curious expression.

“Give him some space Piper, you’re gonna scare him.” MacCready doesn’t know what face he’s making but it must be disastrous if Dakota is jumping in to rescue him. Piper realizes she’s not going to get any of the responses she wants from the mercenary and turns her attention back to his companion.

“I found myself in Goodneighbor and stopped for supplies and picked up a little assistance along the way.” He puts a hand on MacCready’s back to bring him forward and into the conversation completely.

“Piper, this is MacCready. He’s pretty good with a gun.”

MacCready doesn’t even have time to feel vaguely offended by awful introduction when Piper scoffs and punches Dakota lightly in the shoulder.

“Only you would hire a mercenary sight unseen.”

“Well I _saw_  him before I hired him. And I didn’t even pay full price.”

By now MacCready is horrified and Piper is wheezing with laughter. Dakota, on the other hand, seems determined to convince his comrades that he’s made a good business decision.

“I mean he _looks_  capable right? Like he knows how to handle a gun.”

Piper is in tears clutching her stomach and, frankly, MacCready would rather be anywhere else than in the middle of this conversation. Even somewhere wet and filled with mirelurks.

“Blue are you even _listening_ to yourself right now? Were you in the market for a mercenary or a rent boy?” There are tears streaming down Piper’s face and her hysterical laughter is drawing the attention of the Diamond City Guard. Which is probably not good but MacCready doubts his current reputation can sink any lower than it has in the past five minutes.

Dakota at least has the common sense to look ashamed; face a deep crimson all the way down his neck and dipping under the collar of his shirt. MacCready can feel his face getting hot as well but there are no visible escape routes, he has nowhere to stay in Diamond City that won’t arouse the suspicion of the guards. Luckily, he doesn’t have to worry about an out for long.

“Well, if you’ll excuse us Piper I just wanted to let you know I was back in town. Now we’ve really got to sell this salvage before the shops close for the evening.”

Piper is still wiping away tears as she gives Dakota one last hug for the evening, asking if he can grab a statement some local teacher was working on for her before he turns in for the evening, to which Dakota obliges. She even gives MacCready a firm handshake and a “nice to meet you” as a parting gift before Dakota is ushering him into the market.

“I’m sorry about that. I know Piper is easily excitable but I didn’t mean for you to feel uncomfortable. She’s a great person.”

Of this MacCready has no doubt, he’s read her work and her straightforward honesty shines through completely. He’s just more than a little unaccustomed to dealing with the close camaraderie between her and Dakota, and it leaves him feeling like even more of an outsider.

They stop at the ammo shop first and Dakota unloads a desk fan and handfuls of silverware from his pack. That explains the mysterious clanging. They bargain in exchange for rounds to fill both their guns, and though MacCready argues to pay for his own ammunition, Dakota waves him off and drops the rounds into the pockets of his duster before bodily leading him down one of Diamond City’s narrow alleys.

“One last stop before we get some well needed rest.” He knocks lightly on the door of a building marked Schoolhouse in the same bright neon that wraps around the entire city. Inside they’re met by an older gentleman and a Miss Nanny robot. Dakota announces that they’re there on Piper’s behalf and, while the man excuses himself to get what Piper requested, makes small talk with the cheerful bot.

“Any news since I last dropped by?” He asks the robot and although it doesn’t have a face, MacCready notices its entire demeanor brightens considerably at the question.

“Oh oui, we have been very busy with our current curriculum and are even looking into featuring some advanced courses! I think the children will love the challenge very much.” The Miss Nanny chirps as her mechanical arms move to help convey her excitement. Dakota hums thoughtfully to himself at the response.

“And that’s all that’s going on around here, Miss Edna?” His smirk says he doesn’t quite believe her. There’s a pause that’s filled with the sounds of the robot’s – Miss Edna’s – motor running before she sags dejectedly, letting out a huff.

“There is one other thing.” She starts hesitantly and Dakota leans forward and nods for her to continue.

“I am thinking of…telling Mister Zwicky about my feelings.”

MacCready had been mostly zoning out while the Miss Nanny talked with his companion, even considered going outside to smoke, but drawn out of his own thoughts and back to the conversation at this bizarre turn of events. A robot with a crush? It’s certainly not the most farfetched thing he’s heard but it’s definitely…unique. Dakota chuckles lightly at Miss Edna’s lack of self-confidence.

“I think that’s a great idea, Edna. Everyone deserves a little happiness in the world, don’t you think?”

Taken a bit aback by his response, MacCready feels like an intruder on a very personal conversation, even though he knows he is not unwelcome. Dakota looks like he’s about to say something further, and MacCready finds himself holding his breath to hear, but at that moment the teacher, Mister Zwicky, returns from upstairs with a few loose pages in his hand and hands them over to Dakota. With Piper’s request fulfilled they no longer have any reason to linger and bid goodnight to Miss Edna and Mister Zwicky before reading back out into the dirt streets of Diamond City.

“Well, we’ve done enough running around for the day.” Dakota says around a yawn and the neon sign for an inn becomes visible as they round a corner.

“So we’ll get some rest and see what information Piper and Nick can come up with tomorrow.”

MacCready is beginning to wonder if the stares he and Dakota get each time they enter a room is because people can spot outsiders at a glance or if they’re just honestly confused what a vault dweller who looks like he has actual concern for his outside appearance is doing with someone as covered in dirt and grime as MacCready. It might be a bit of both, and he can hardly blame them. But so far Dakota seems to be the least shady of MacCready’s past employers, and has the caps to spare, so he has no issue ignores the cold looks of passerby.

The room at The Dugout is similar to that of the one they’d stayed in at the Rexford; a bed, a couch and little else. MacCready drops his pack onto the crumbling couch and rummages around for his supplies to clean his rifle, but Dakota’s nervous cough stops him.

“You slept on the couch yesterday.” It’s not a question.

“Yes I did.” MacCready drags the syllables out, not sure where this conversation is supposed to be going.

“I just figured,” Dakota fiddles anxiously with the pipboy on his right arm; turning the dial but not actually paying attention to any of the words cycling across the pixelated screen, “you know, we’d switch off or something. More fair that way.”

“You’re the one paying for the room.” MacCready isn’t used to doing things out of fairness. But Dakota isn’t from this world in the first place, so maybe this is what he’s used to.

“I can’t have my sniper having a crick in his neck from sleeping funny on a couch. Just take the bed, seriously.” There’s something about his tone that leaves no room for debate and MacCready relocates his pack and rifle to the dirty mattress on the other side of the room. Looking rather please with himself, Dakota plops onto the couch and lays down. With his few extra inches of height, he looks even more uncomfortable than MacCready would have been spread out on the couch. But he’s not going to argue a good night’s rest. He settles himself onto the mattress and gets as comfortable as he can considering the state of decay everything around them is in.

Dakota is already asleep on the couch by the time he finishes cleaning his rifle, and MacCready wonders how someone can fall asleep so easily in the presence of a hired killer. Pacing the room one last time, he double-checks the locks on the doors and eats a tin of fancy lad snack cakes he’d stuffed into his pack earlier before finally settling in and falling asleep himself. Tomorrow they’d have more walking to do, no doubt.


	3. Arrangement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He seems legitimately concerned about MacCready feeling welcomed into the fold which, truthfully, is not something MacCready is used to.   
> Missions were always about caps and never about feelings. Feelings just got in the way of taking the shot.

Piper is already in the lobby of the inn by the time Dakota and MacCready are packed and ready to roll out. She’s armed with pen and notepad and, from what they can make out in the poor lighting of the room, is mid-interrogation of one of the Dugout’s regulars. She must catch a glimpse of them out of her peripherals because she immediately turns and gives them a blinding smile before patting her interview subject on the arm and jumping up from the table. Tucking both her pen and notebook back into the breast pocket of her coat she makes her way over to Dakota and MacCready.

“What took you two so long? Actually, don’t tell me, I don’t wanna know.”

Dakota pulls a few pages of paper from his coat pocket, the pages given to them by the school teacher, MacCready recalls, and hands them over to Piper. She smacks Dakota lightly on the arm before trotting off towards the door, barely leaving time for Dakota to turn in the room key as they jog after her.

“Now let’s hurry before someone makes Nick hunt down their lost cat.”

 

 

  
Nick turns out to be Nick Valentine.

 _THE_ Nick Valentine.

The Commonwealth’s one and only synth detective.

MacCready had always half assumed the stories about him were exaggerated - and maybe they were - but nonetheless the Nick Valentine in front of him has a commanding presence. Tall, six foot on the dot probably - as most of the early synths are before the Institute set out to camouflage them with the rest of society - with unblinking, glowing yellow pupils that slowly scan between the three visitors in his office. Behind him, a woman who must be his assistant carries on with her own tasks as if none of the others are present.

“Well if I knew there was going to be company I would have made cookies.” Nick deadpans as his eyes focus on Dakota.

“And I thought you were out looking for supplies to cross the glowing sea. I assume you haven’t forgotten.”

This is the first MacCready’s heard of Dakota’s actual objective. Honestly, he figured the vault dweller was just in need of protection considering how he still hesitated pulling the trigger on his own gun. But the Glowing Sea is a deadly place. And, considering how every step in the Commonwealth is a coin toss between life and death, compared to venturing out into the vastness of the Glowing Sea, it’s a cakewalk.

No wonder Dakota seemed so excited at the prospect of bargaining MacCready’s wage down; no one in their right mind would offer any less than 500 caps to waltz into a place like that.

“I did, I did! I made a stop in Goodneighbor to stock up. And uh,” Dakota stutters and looks back over his shoulder, making brief eye contact with MacCready before returning his focus to Valentine. “...hired some extra help?”

Piper snorts and Nick looks justifiably exasperated. And MacCready once again wishes he weren’t the butt of the joke.

“What’s with you and picking up strays, honestly? You’re going to get yourself killed. How do you even know you can trust him?”

“He told _me_ it’s because he ‘looks like he knows how to handle a gun’.” Piper interrupts and Dakota’s face blooms with red as he’s embarrassed into silence.

MacCready clears his throat to interrupt this discussion, and three sets of eyes turn to him as if they’ve just now realized he could hear them.

“I’ve been working as a hired gun since I was 16, I know better than anyone how to keep from getting riddled with bullet holes out here.” MacCready bristles at the remarks and intends to finally set the records straight; that he’s not someone to be trifled with. Nick doesn’t look impressed in the least.

“It’s not your hide I’m worried about, kid.” He drawls, pulling a pack of cigarettes from the breast pocket of his battered coat, shaking out a single cigarette, and lighting it. MacCready wonders what sort of satisfaction a synth could get from smoking, but it certainly adds to the gritty detective image Nick presents. He takes a long drag from the cigarette before turning his focus back to the vault dweller again.

“Hired gun or no, you’re not ready to trek across the Glowing Sea. That’s suicide for most people who know what to expect from the Commonwealth, let alone a vault dweller who’s barely thawed out.”

Smoke rises out of Nick’s mouth as he speaks, as well as through the cracks in the exterior of his face were the inner mechanics are visible through the surface. A step ahead of him, Dakota fidgets anxiously. It’s a harsh reminder that he doesn’t belong in this world; will always be an outsider.

“If the Institute’s really got him, then he’ll still be there whether we take three days or three years. We need to be smart about this. No use getting killed just because we wanted to get the job done as quickly as possible.”

Dakota doesn’t seem happy about Nick’s suggestion, if anything he seems more uneasy, and now MacCready himself is beginning to feel like an eavesdropper to this conversation. He hasn’t been trusted with the specifics of this task yet, and now the thought of the Institute being involved too has the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end. Just what has he been hired to help with?

“Tell you what,” Nick takes another drag from the cigarette before picking up a clipboard from his assistant’s desk.

“Keep gathering supplies and helping out settlements with that pal of yours, Preston. Piper and I will keep our ears to the ground around here in case any news comes in. The more allies we can make the more information we can get. And information is what we need right now.”

“Maybe you can see if Hancock knows how you can get through the Glowing Sea.”

Piper chimes in, and MacCready had honestly almost forgotten she was there. Her usual bubbly demeanor had become serious in the presence of the detective.

“I mean, he’s a ghoul so maybe he’ll know. Or, maybe he’ll just tell you to turn into a ghoul too but it’s worth a shot.”

It is worth a shot to ask Hancock, truly. Hancock knows everyone worth knowing, MacCready’s certain. If Hancock doesn’t have the answer then he knows where to get it. Although truthfully, MacCready is far from excited to return to Goodneighbor so soon.

“Then there’s your starting point. I’ll see if I can’t find some old contacts to look into it, and Piper here knows how to get anyone to spill their guts.” At this Nick motions towards Piper and she flashes him a bright, if slightly sinister, smile.

“So we’ll be here when you’re ready to move forward. Or, you get bored with the new toy.”

Nick’s pupils flash to MacCready briefly before returning to focus on Dakota. MacCready huffs and turns to the door of the agency.

“I’m gonna have a smoke. When you’re ready to move out let me know.”

Outside its already midday and people are bustling around the streets of diamond city going to and from the market. MacCready fishes his pack of cigarettes from his shirt pocket and lights one, watching the smoke curl faintly. As disappointed as he is at being so underestimated within Dakota’s company, he’d been hard pressed to find work as of late, and had been desperate for caps. Not many people willing to take the risk on a hired gun anymore, it was too easy to end up shot in the back, quite literally. He’d just have to keep a level head through the jeers of Dakota’s companions.

Just until he has enough caps.

The door to the agency creaks open again and Dakota finally emerges, squinting into the sunlight. He notices MacCready leaning against the wall smoking and sidles in next to him. Maccready holds the pack of cigarettes out to him as an attempt at a peace offering, but the vault dweller waves him off.

“No thank you, I quit a while back. Used to have customers tell me they could smell the smoke on me. I figured that was my hint to stop.”

MacCready doesn’t ask what kind of work Dakota did or who his customers were. They aren’t friends. And Dakota’s world and memories are from over two hundred years ago, they don’t matter anymore. He slowly pockets the pack of cigarettes.

“Look I’m sorry about…this.” Dakota motions his hand toward the door to the agency and leans against the wall beside MacCready.

“I know I haven’t been forthcoming with information about what we’re planning but I’m still trying to figure it out myself, honestly. And Nick and Piper are just being…protective. I think to them this is more than just about helping an old world vault dweller.”

He seems legitimately concerned about MacCready feeling welcomed into the fold which, truthfully, is not something MacCready is used to. Missions were always about caps and never about feelings. Feelings just got in the way of taking the shot.

“So the Glowing Sea, then?”

Dakota nods at the question, but doesn’t look at MacCready.

“There’s a rumor that there’s a guy out there. Who knows how to get into the Institute.”

“And why are we trying to get into the Institute?”

By the way Dakota’s head snaps up and he turns to MacCready, there’s no way he missed the implication of the “we” in that question.

“They’ve got someone important to me.”

He doesn’t elaborate, and MacCready knows when not to press a subject. He nods and stubs out his cigarette against the wall, starting to walk towards the main gates of Diamond City and back out into danger. MacCready figures he can stick with this gig a little while longer.

For the caps.

“So, back to Goodneighbor then?”

Dakota pushes off from the wall and jogs to catch up. He still seems more reserved than this morning, but his face brightens at the suggestion of moving onward.

“Well I’ve got a place I wanna stop first. There’s something I’m supposed to pick up.”

Just until he has enough caps.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry it's 1am and I smashed this out on my phone again in a rush. I'm hoping in later chapters when we get to the meat of things they'll be longer but right now that it's just building these short installments work best for me. Hopefully I'll have more time to actually work on this soon! Thanks for bearing with me.


	4. History

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “It was the right place at the right time, I guess. You were there when I needed you. And that was enough.”
> 
> MacCready has nothing to say to that. He’s never been right for anything before.

Nick is nice enough to treat everyone to Power Noodles before Dakota and MacCready head back out to “gather information and supplies” or whatever it is they’re doing to stall for time before taking on the Glowing Sea. Nick, however is not nice enough to keep from lamenting the hit four bowls of noodles have landed on his wallet (of course nobody brings up the fact that Nick doesn’t need to eat).

By the time they’ve finished eating - and Piper has finished prying for information for her next article - the sun is high overhead and MacCready has to squint to see through the glare of the sun bouncing off the twisted metal landscape that surrounds Diamond City. Hopefully they’ll be able to see their enemies before they see them.

“We’d better get moving” Dakota says, breaking MacCready out of his train of thought.

“We don’t want to get caught outside when it starts to get dark.”

MacCready couldn’t agree more. While the blinding sunlight could cause problems, traveling at night could spell disaster if they’re caught by a group of raiders or worse, any of the wildlife that calls the Commonwealth home. Even being surrounded by buildings doesn’t keep the deathclaws away.

“So what are we looking for?”

Dakota glances at him over his shoulder, and gives MacCready a lopsided smile.

“Well if we’re heading out to the glowing sea, we need protection against radiation. While we could always stock up on all the radaway we can carry and hope for the best, I’d rather do my research and save some space in my pack.”

As if just mentioning it cause him to suddenly remember the bag on his back, Dakota starts to dig through the pack until he pulls out a box of gumdrops and immediately pops a few in his mouth, before holding the box out to MacCready, who slowly takes one and hesitates for a second before taking a bite.

“I’m hoping Hancock will have some advice for battling heavy radiation, and if not I’m sure he’ll know someone who can help.”

MacCready nods along, Hancock has a ridiculous amount of contacts at his disposal, who could probably get anything in the Commonwealth. Hancock had power.

“Or, at the very least, he might know who to kill for some upgrades for my power armor. That could help.”

This is the first MacCready’s heard about Dakota having power armor. Where had he even gotten it from? He doesn’t seem the Brotherhood type, who normally have a shoot-first-ask-questions-never protocol. And while Dakota doesn’t seem to be hard pressed for caps, power armor is insanely expensive, and extremely hard to come by. What was something like that doing with an old world vault dweller?

“How’s a guy like you even end up with power armor, anyways?”

A loud laugh bursts from Dakota and out of instinct MacCready does a quick check of their surroundings to ensure that nothing may have heard the sudden noise.

“What, a guy can’t have a ridiculous metal suit?”

He laughs again at whatever disgusted face MacCready must be making.

“You can find some amazing stuff if you just know where to look.”

The conversation dies for a while as they continue walking, and they stop for a break at an abandoned raider hideout in the remains of a crumbling diner.

MacCready drinks a nuka cola while his companion methodically ransacks the place for supplies and splits any caps and salvage he finds into piles to split between the two of them. There’s something refreshing about not having to fight to get a fair share of the loot, and while there’s nothing glamorous about the smell of rot and decay in the small diner, MacCready takes what little pleasures he can get.

Dakota settles down into the booth across from MacCready and opens his own cola, taking a long drink from it before beginning to fiddle with his pipboy.

In the quiet of the moment, MacCready wonders what kind of life Dakota led before this, if he had a family, what he did for work. They’re not friends. MacCready doesn’t believe in seeking friendships from the same people you seek caps from. But he wonders offhandedly how he would have fit into the old world Dakota is from, if they could have been friends.

He knows nothing of that world. Would he have even been remotely the same man if he’d been from that time?

“Can I ask you a question?”

The words are out of his mouth before he has time to stop them and Dakota finally lifts his head from the screen of his pipboy.

“You never asked permission before. Why start now?”

He laughs at the look MacCready shoots at him.

“How’d you end up in that vault in the first place?”

The warm smile that had been on his companion’s face moments earlier falls drastically and MacCready immediately regrets his question. But he needs to know. Needs to try to understand his employer’s motivations as much as he can.

“I didn’t want to.” Dakota starts, then falters.

He’d mentioned that before, right after he’d met with that ghoul in Goodneighbor. He seemed to hate being reminded of the vault, always tried to distance himself from the title of vault dweller that followed him no matter where he went.

“They didn’t let everyone in, there were too many people for that. But I worked with the military for a short stint during college; I helped with their recruiting team. I’m sure you’ve realized, but I’m better with words than I am with bullets.” He laughs, but there’s no humor in it.

“But that was all it took. ‘For serving my country’, they said. Like I hadn’t just taken the job as the first decent paycheck I could get my hands on.”

That’s something MacCready can relate to, but this isn’t about him.

“Got me a space in that vault though. Although I’m still not sure it was the right choice.”

He picks up his pack and loads it up with his half of the loot, and prompts MacCready to do the same.

“Let’s get going before we’re caught out at nightfall.”

 

 

 

It’s quiet through the streets, which isn’t uncommon but there’s an eeriness to the silence. Normally there’s at least the sound of the creaking metal in the collapsing buildings, or debris falling to the ground. But the two men hear none of that now, and it’s the first signal that something isn’t entirely right.

MacCready is following a few steps behind Dakota, easier for a sniper to follow up the rear, so as he rounds the corner moments later he watches the events play out in slow motion.

An ragged, emaciated figure rises from a pile of trash and debris off to the side and charges straight at Dakota. A feral.

Dakota grabs for his gun and fired off a bullet and while he’s got decent aim when he has enough time to line up the shot, he’s inexperience at shooting from the hip and the bullet shoots wildly over the feral ghoul’s shoulder.

There a moment of pause where Dakota pulls the trigger again and MacCready waits for the telltale blast and the awful noise ghouls make when they collapse to the ground, but neither happens. The gun clicks empty and there’s no time to reload before the ghoul will be on top of him.

MacCready is running before he even has time to think through a plan, memories of past events clouding his thoughts as he pulls Dakota out of the way. He grabs for his own pistol at his hip, he prefers his rifle but there’s no use for a sniper in close combat.

Dakota topples over from the force of the shove and watches as the bullet from MacCready’s gun obliterates the feral ghoul’s skull.

Quiet falls once again over the street as both men catch their breath and MacCready slumps to the ground heavily next to Dakota, sore and drained of energy.

 

 

 

“Mac. Hey, Mac.”

The adrenaline finally stops ringing in his ears enough to hear Dakota’s worried voice next to him.  
“You’re shoulder’s bleeding, we need to find someplace safe to get a look at it.”

No, MacCready wants to tell him, he doesn’t need to stop, they need to keep moving, keep fighting. But all the energy feels like it’s been stolen from him and he can’t do anything besides nod.

“Can you get up by yourself?”

Another nod.

Still, Dakota helps lift him to his feet and slowly they make their way forward. There’s a downed overpass that the vault dweller points out and tells him they’ll have to keep low, can’t risk being spotted now. There’s what appears to be a small sniper’s roost that can be accessed by climbing over a car and across a rickety narrow board, and MacCready couldn’t be more relieved to see it than he is now.

Dakota ushers him across first, following just a breath behind as if he’s afraid the merc will collapse at any second. And honestly, he just might.

In the roost there’s a small cooking stove and a single mattress. There’s some extra ammo too but it’s forgotten for the moment as Dakota rips his pack open to find a stimpak and bandages.

He helps MacCready over to the mattress and works his injured arm out of his shirt and duster, to fully inspect the damage. It’s only two deep scratches down the length of his arm where the ghoul dived at him, but it could have been much worse. Of that, he’s certain.

“Did that feral hurt you anywhere else?” Dakota’s voice pulls him back from old memories and old wounds. Back to the present.

“No. That’s the only place it got me.”

Dakota finally sits back and relaxes in the dark of the roost. How long ago the sun had set, MacCready has no idea. But there’s no more they can do for tonight.

“I’m sorry about that back there.”

Dakota isn’t looking at him.

“You shouldn’t have gotten hurt because of me, it’s my own fault I hadn’t reloaded my pistol before leaving the diner today. I should have been more careful.”

He’s rambling. Guilt does that to people. In hindsight, you believe you can change any scenario to your favor. MacCready knows.

“You can’t take on the Glowing Sea and the Institute if you’re dead.”

There’s a long sigh from where Dakota is sitting.

“I’m not paying you to die for me.” His voice is cold and absolute.

“What _are_ you paying me for, then?”

“I don’t know, honestly. I needed help. I needed someone who knew the area.”

“And you trusted a mercenary? A mercenary you found _in the back room of a bar_?”

Finally Dakota looks at him fully. In the dark it’s hard to make out the expression on his face.

“It was the right place at the right time, I guess. You were there when I needed you. And that was enough.”

MacCready has nothing to say to that. He’s never been _right_ for anything before.

“You might as well get some rest, I’m going to stay up and keep watch. In case any super mutants decide to drop in.”

He looks as exhausted as MacCready feels, and if he intends to keep watch like he claims then he’ll be tired and useless tomorrow, which is the last thing they need.

“No super mutant is gonna be agile enough to cross that tiny wooden plank to get up here. We should be safe enough to both get some well needed sleep.”

Dakota looks tempted, but not entirely convinced.

“There’s only one mattress though.”

MacCready gives him an exasperated look then realizes the vault dweller probably can’t see it through the darkness.

“This wouldn’t be the first time I’ve had to sleep with someone.” The exhaustion has rendered him incapable of filtering his own speech, apparently. Dakota laughs suddenly and then claps a hand over his mouth to muffle the noise. Nonetheless, it’s still a relief to hear after the heaviness of the day.

“Jeez MacCready, when you asked what I was paying you for I didn’t mean _that_.”

“Shut the f-just shut up and go to sleep already.”

There’s a moment before he can hear the rustling of Dakota coming closer, and then there a warm weight on the mattress next to him. MacCready waits and listens for the breathing of his companion to calm and even into sleep before finally drifting off himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me: I'm gonna try to make the chapters longer  
> also me: [continues to make chapters the same length]
> 
> anyways, this has actually been pretty cathartic when I'm stressed from work or...other work. So thanks for letting me shout into the void for a while. I've been having fun doing this, and if you get even the tiniest bit of enjoyment out of it then even better!


	5. Stagnating

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You know how to cook?”
> 
> Dakota scoffs around his own spoonful of food.
> 
> “No, but if I learned one thing from college it was how to combine random ingredients into something vaguely palatable. So voila, molerat ramen.”
> 
> MacCready holds up a spoonful in front of himself in a parody of a toast.
> 
> “I’m sure it’s a rare delicacy somewhere.”

Waking up feels like surfacing after being underwater for a long time.

It’s the reason MacCready’s always hated stimpaks. Always tried to avoid getting hurt or, when that was impossible, treating minor wounds. The grogginess and fog around the edges of his vision would take the majority of the day to fade, time that nobody in the Commonwealth was afforded, and would certainly hinder his aim while shooting.

The sky is bright and clear and bits of sun shine through the opening of the hideout. Near the doorway is a makeshift cooking station, and from his vantage point on the ratty mattress MacCready can see Dakota’s back as he’s leaned over a pot, stirring whatever contents are bubbling away inside. He must make some sort of disturbance because his companion seems to realize he’s awake and looks at him from over his shoulder.

“How are you feeling?” Dakota’s tone is carefully neutral, like he’s worried the feral scratch on MacCready’s arm is going to turn him rabid at any moment. Honestly, MacCready himself isn’t sure that won’t happen.

“I’m sore, but I don’t think I’ll be bleeding out on you anytime soon. I’m not much use as a shot at current though, not with a stimpak in my system.”

The vault dweller cocks his head to the side, confused.

“I thought stimpaks didn’t have many side effects.

“Not for most people they don’t, but I always feel nauseous afterwards. Like seasickness but you’re walking on solid ground.”

He can see Dakota, now that the fog is starting to clear from the edges of his vision, getting up from the rickety chair he’d been sitting on next to the cooking station and making his way hesitantly over to the mattress. His cautiousness is unsettling, like he’s going to bolt when MacCready isn’t looking. Not that MacCready can really blame him, no use for a sniper who’s injured and aim compromised. He’s a burden now.

“Then we’ll stay here for the day. You can’t risk getting hurt again just because we want to keep moving.”

He sounds like he’s trying to convince himself more than he is MacCready. They can afford the time, hell, they could probably stay cooped up here for a week if they wanted to. Nick told them there was no rush to get across the Glowing Sea, but MacCready doesn’t cope with inactivity well, and would rather take the risk of getting shot than stay cooped up here for more than a day.

“We can’t stay here long, there could be raiders or super mutants in the area. We’re sitting ducks if we don’t move soon.”

Dakota kneels down next to the mattress and MacCready watches a frown crease the lines of his face. It’s not a good look for him.

“I almost got you killed yesterday because I couldn’t shoot a feral. We leave now and we’re walking straight into death. At least up here we have an advantage.”

So that’s what this is about. MacCready should have assumed Dakota was still holding himself responsible for his injuries.

“I’m alive though aren’t I? You’re paying me to shoot for you, good or bad. That’s a risk I’m willing to take.” At that, he starts to unwrap himself from the moth eaten blanket draped over him (which he doesn’t remember having when he fell asleep, although that might have been due to the medication). The pain from the sudden movement in his still-healing arm causes him to gasp.

In an instant there are hands on his shoulders pushing him back onto the mattress and pulling the blanket back up. Dakota’s face looms over the sniper’s field of vision.

“Well that’s not a risk _I’m_ willing to take, so I’d appreciate it if you’d stop trying to get yourself killed for the sake of some fucking caps.”

“Not all of us have the luxury of passing on ‘some fu-freaking caps’, you know. Not all of us have the incredibly lucrative profession of being an ancient vault dweller. Some of us don’t have to get our hands dirty to stay alive.”

Dakota releases MacCready’s shoulders, sitting back on his heels beside him. His face goes slack with the realization he’s stepped on a land mine.

“God MacCready is that what you think? That I just get handed caps? That I don’t have to raise a finger to get what I want?” The volume of his voice is raising with each passing moment, and if he doesn’t quiet down it poses the very real risk of alerting whatever or whoever might be in the area. And that’s a risk they can’t take, but Dakota can’t stop.

“I came out of that vault knowing _nothing_ about this world. I barely knew how to shoot a fucking gun straight. If it hadn’t been for Preston and Nick and Piper, if they hadn’t trusted me and worked with me, I probably wouldn’t be alive right now.”

He’s breathing heavily, but seems to be nearing the end of his rant. After a long exhale Dakota continues, only now in a tone more similar to the cautious, neutral tone he used when MacCready first woke.

“So all I’m asking is that you put a little faith in me, Mac. Just trust me for once that I actually care about what happens to you. If it’s caps you want then I promise you’ll get them, but we have to trust each other.”

MacCready doesn’t know what to say to that, trust isn’t something he gives freely, isn’t something he’s used to receiving either. But Dakota took a chance hiring him, took a chance introducing him to his other companions, and took a chance caring for him instead of leaving him as fodder for the ferals. MacCready isn’t sure what to do with that level of trust, as small as it is, still seems overwhelming in regards to how little they’ve known each other. Moments pass and MacCready realizes Dakota is still waiting for some sort of response.

“I can…try. I’ll work on it.”

Dakota nods and pats him on the shoulder, before standing up and making his way slowly back towards the pot, which is now steaming slightly. They’ll have to make sure nothing burns, the smoke could alert others to their presence.

“I can’t force you to trust me, obviously, but I hope you realize I’m not just using you as a mercenary. You need caps, I get that, and I won’t ask why if you don’t want to share, but I need help as badly as you need caps. So we’re even here. I’m not your employer. We’re comrades. Maybe we could even end up being friends, I don’t know. But we need each other and we can’t take unnecessary risks, you can at least agree to that, right?”

He’s scooping whatever is in the pot into some aluminum cans he’s rinsed lightly with water and walking back to MacCready. Holding the bowl hostage, Dakota waits for MacCready’s answer.

“I can agree to that. But as soon as I’m fit enough I’m teaching you how to shoot a rifle. The further we keep you from the enemy the better off we’ll be.”

Seemingly placated, Dakota sits back down next to the edge of the mattress MacCready is still propped up on, extending the can and a spoon towards him. While the contents of the can aren’t anything MacCready would describe as appetizing, anything warm is preferable to the cold cans of pork and beans he’s grown accustomed to on the road.

“You know how to cook?”

Dakota scoffs around his own spoonful of food.

“No, but if I learned one thing from college it was how to combine random ingredients into something vaguely palatable. So voila, molerat ramen.”

MacCready holds up a spoonful in front of himself in a parody of a toast.

“I’m sure it’s a rare delicacy somewhere.”

They eat in silence save for the sounds of chewing and the soft clinking of spoons against aluminum. Dakota finishes first, having two fully functioning arms, and moves back to the rickety chair next to the cooking station he’d been sitting in earlier. MacCready finishes not long after and sets the spoon and empty can next to the mattress.

“So what next, Mr. Safety-First?”

Head snapping around to face him, Dakota pouts in his direction. The anger from earlier seems to have dissipated from both men, but MacCready is certain it will come back eventually. He holds his own secrets close to his heart and has no doubts that Dakota is doing the same. They may have agreed to trust each other, but they have a long way to go before they can be fully open with one another.

“I don’t know,” Dakota puts a finger to his lips and thinks for a moment, thick eyebrows furrowing in concentration.

“We could get to know each other I guess. You ask me something, I ask you something. If it’s too personal we’ll skip it and move on.”

“What is this, a Brotherhood Scout Camp? Are we gonna play spin the bottle too?”

Dakota laughs and tosses small pebble from the floor in MacCready’s general direction. It bounces off the wall and lands somewhere on the mattress.

“God Mac, I’m not asking you to stick your tongue in my mouth. I’m just trying to get to know you a little. I can’t keep introducing you to people as 'that guy I pay to shoot people’.”

MacCready blanks for a moment at that mental image, but can’t fault Dakota for his reasoning. He knows next to nothing about the man across from him, and it wouldn’t hurt to find out his motivations. His weaknesses, even.

“What am I supposed to ask?”

“Anything I guess. My favorite color maybe? That’s always a good starter.”

“Shut up. So tell me then, why the Glowing Sea?”

Dakota freezes and MacCready waits for him to tell him to ask another question. There’s a moment of silence where he thinks Dakota is going to get sick right in front of him, but it seems to pass and slowly he starts to speak.

“There’s supposed to be someone there, who can get me into the Institute.”

“And why the Institute?” He prompts, hoping to keep the vault dweller talking.

“My nephew. They’ve got my nephew. He was living with me and his mom, my sister, when the sirens went off. He was frozen too, only the Institute broke into that pod, and stole him. I’m the only one who can get him back.”

“And your sister?” Dakota’s never mentioned having siblings, and besides Piper and Nick’s assistance, as well as a Minuteman named Preston, has never mentioned other companions. MacCready can only assume the worst.

“Shaun, he was just a baby when he was frozen. He was in the pod with her, and she fought, she fought like hell.” He lets out a shuddering breath and tries to maintain a level tone of voice.

“They shot her. The Institute stole her son right from her arms and killed her.”

MacCready feels like the wind has been knocked out of him. Memories of clawed hands grabbing for an innocent baby, a young woman fighting for her own life as well as that of her child. Memories MacCready doesn’t want to remember, but forces himself to never forget. Across from him, Dakota is gauging his non-reaction.

“So is it my turn, then?”

“I suppose I owe you that much, boss.”

“Fine then. Who were those goons harassing you in the Third Rail?”

Honestly, MacCready is surprised Dakota even remembers that. Of all the events that took place on that evening, two disgruntled men hassling a mercenary should have been the least of his concerns.

“They’re Gunners. Winlock and Barnes.”

Holding his gaze, Dakota nods, prompting him to continue.

“I was great with a rifle and caught the attention of the Gunners. They offered me caps and I was desperate; I agreed. But it didn’t take long for me to realize I didn’t agree with their methods. So I left.”

“I’m assuming the Gunners don’t take kindly to deserters.”

MacCready lets out a long sigh. “They don’t. Which means I’ve got one of the most violent groups of mercenaries in the Commonwealth on my tail with orders to shoot me on sight.”

There’s a moment of silence before Dakota speaks up.

“So if we take those two out, will they leave you alone?”

It’s like MacCready’s prayers have been answered. Nobody’s ever taken interest in his own personal vendettas before. Nobody’s ever done anything for him besides make his life more difficult.

“It just might.”

Dakota gets up suddenly and grabs MacCready’s rifle from their pile of gear. He drops it unceremoniously next to where the sniper has spent the entire day propped up on the mattress, recovering.

“Then if we’re doing this we’re doing it right. And you’re going to teach me to use this.”

MacCready holds the rifle in his hands, feeling its familiar weight. His companion is watching him intently as he turns it over.

“I’m not taking you into a Gunner’s nest until I’m confident you can land a headshot from a considerable distance. So listen up now because tomorrow we’re leaving this shack and starting your field training. I can’t keep jumping in to save your ass-to save you every time, you know.”

Dakota looking a bizarrely excited at the prospect of learning a new way to kill people and MacCready’s not sure whether or not he should be concerned by that. Regardless, he feels obligated to teach Dakota everything he knows, as it will only benefit them both in the long run.

Beside him, Dakota is raring to get started learning a new weapon.

“Don’t worry Mac, I trust you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy 2am  
> thank you for tuning into That Chapter Where Nothing Happens  
> I really appreciate the positive feedback while I learn I can't even tell you how much your comments here and on tumblr (no matter how small) mean to me


	6. Momentum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “A comic book store?”
> 
> “Look, if I had told you that straight out, would you have followed along?”

MacCready is dressed, packed and halfway through cleaning his rifle by the time Dakota wakes up. The sun is barely up and it’s apparent by how rushed his motions are that he can barely wait any longer to get back out into the fray. Dakota, who is rubbing tiredly at his eyes and scratching at the stubble on his face, doesn’t seem to share this mentality.

“Eat if you’re going to eat and then get your gear, we spent enough time dawdling yesterday. If you want to learn to shoot a rifle we need to get started as soon as possible.”

“So what rifle am I gonna use to practice with, then? Unless you’re going to let me use yours.” By the way MacCready’s eyes narrow and his grip on the gun tightens, it’s apparent that’s not going to be the case.

“Either we stop off at Goodneighbor and buy one from KL-E-0 or steal one off some raiders, whatever comes first.”

While neither of them want to be ambushed, they know the chances of running into at least a few raiders is more probable. Hopefully they won’t waste too many bullets trying to get a rifle to practice with.

Dakota yawns and finally starts to move from his spot on the floor. MacCready had been so drowsy the previous day he didn’t notice Dakota hadn’t slept on the single mattress in the hideout. Instead, he’d made a makeshift pillow out of his rucksack on the floor beside where MacCready had been sleeping on the mattress, with his tattered coat thrown over him like a blanket.

MacCready at least has the decency to feel a little guilty. He scoops some of the remainders of yesterday’s meal into the aluminum cans and hands one to Dakota as he makes his way towards the warmth of the cooking stove’s fire.

“So what are our plans for today? Besides finding you a decent gun, of course.”

Dakota yawns again and spoons a mouthful of food into his mouth at the same time. It’s a little gross, but MacCready is beginning to realize that Dakota’s clean, put-together appearance clearly doesn’t carry over to before he’s fully awake.

“There’s a shop nearby I’ve got to get something at for a ghoul in Goodneighbor. He runs a radio program, so maybe he’ll have some information for us about the Glowing Sea. Or the Institute.”

They finish their food in relative silence again, and Dakota finishes gathering his belongings. While MacCready is busy pouring dirty water onto the cooking station’s fire to put it out, Dakota does a last pace around the sniper roost that’s been their home over the past day. He seems to spot something in the corner of the balcony and drops his rucksack to look at it.

“Do you have a bobby pin?”

Fishing one out of his pocket, MacCready hands it over to his companion who is crouched in front of a battered-looking wooden crate that, upon closer inspection, has a rusted lock secured to the front of it. Dakota makes short work of picking the lock, and this isn’t the first time by far MacCready has seen him do so, but the talent still comes as a surprise. It takes patience and deft hands to finagle a lock that quickly; he’s a little jealous, honestly.

“Maybe we won’t have to chase a pack of raiders today.” Dakota says once he’s got the crate open and his head and arms halfway inside, ruffling through the contents. He pulls out a pistol, a sniper rifle, a pair of shattered glasses, and a handful of ammo and sets them on the floor.

“Figures a sniper’s roost would have a rifle hidden in it somewhere.”

They make quick work of splitting up the new findings, both men already have pistols so the new one is gutted for ammo and left behind. Dakota pockets the ammo and holds his new practice rifle out in front of him. The broken glasses, bizarrely, are situated crookedly on his face.

“Do you think this is a good look for me?” He laughs, and MacCready scoffs and pulls them off the vault dwellers nose, tossing them to the floor. But he’s trying (and failing) to hide a smile.

“Well, let’s get going then.”

 

 

 

After an hour of walking, Dakota checks his pipboy and says they’re close to their destination. Although, he’s been saying that since the moment they left the hideout this morning, so MacCready isn’t sure whether or not to believe him.

They make their way down a side alley between two dilapidated buildings before Dakota motions for them to stop. His eyes are trained on his pipboy again and he waves three fingers at MacCready before pointing straight ahead. Together, they make their way towards the opening of the alleyway at a crouch.

“Time to test out that new rifle of yours.” MacCready whispers from just over the vault dweller’s shoulder. There’s a flipped car covering part of the opening to the alley, and they slip behind it easily. Out in the open, three raiders are surveying the area; or, two are and one is sitting on a pile of cinder blocks drinking a nuka cola. An easy practice target.

“Get the column of his neck lined up in your crosshairs.” They have plenty of time to line up the first shot from behind the safety of the car, and MacCready adjusts Dakota’s elbow and grip on the gun as he lines up the shot through his scope.

“Once you’ve got your shot lined up, aim a fraction higher. Until you’ve got a good feel on how your gun shoots, we’ll have to err on the side of caution.”

His voice is quiet enough that Dakota can hear him without alerting their enemies, but he’s so close that the ghost of breath across the back of Dakota’s neck causes him to shudder slightly, ruining the aim he’d been working on. MacCready grabs his elbow again and brings it up into position as he fixes his shot once more.

“You take the first shot when you’re ready and I’ll take…” He pauses, watching the two other raiders kick at the ground and turn over debris. “The one with the cage armor. That’ll be harder to line a shot through. But don’t worry, we’ll work up to that.”

Dakota can hear the smile in his voice. MacCready is enjoying being the teacher.

“Take your shot and then immediately line up the next one. You’ll alert them to our presence so you better be ready to pull the trigger quickly.”

Dakota focuses through the scope, his shot perfectly lined up. Inhaling deeply and steeling himself for the fight, he pulls the trigger on the exhale, and hears the echo of MacCready’s shot ricochet through the street. The bullet pierces through the sitting raider’s neck and the force of the blast decapitates them completely, leaving a stump of neck and the splattered remains of what was once a head falling to the ground. The raider in cage armor doesn’t have time to respond before MacCready’s bullet takes out the side of their face, causing them to crumple to the ground with a clatter.

The final enemy watches in shock as their two companions collapse and immediately looks to where the sound of the shots had come from. Surrounded by buildings, the echo of the shots makes it hard to determine the origin, and give Dakota just enough time to line up his second shot, straight through the chest. He pulls the trigger again and watches the remaining raider’s hands claw desperately at the entry wound and it gushes with blood, before joking his comrades in death.

Immediately MacCready jumps up from cover and slaps Dakota on the back, before pulling him into a quick, if awkward due to Dakota being at least a solid three inches taller than him, hug.

“Look at that, didn’t even let them get off a shot! We’ll make an expert sniper out of you yet!”

Dakota doesn’t quite understand his cheerfulness at just killing three people in an incredibly violent manner, but is pleased to see that MacCready might finally be enjoying his company, if only for the moment. He checks his pipboy again and scans the buildings in the area before stopping at a small shop with a faded wooden sign hanging over the entryway.

“Well, here’s our stop.”

MacCready, still bustling with energy and adrenaline, follows his line of sight.

“A comic book store?”

“Look, if I had told you that straight out, would you have followed along?”

There’s a silence where MacCready doesn’t respond. He’s still looking up at the sign as Dakota moves to open the front door to the shop. As he holds it open for his companion to pass through first, a smirk spreads across his face.

“Why MacCready, I didn’t know you were a nerd. That’s adorable.” He’s chuckling as MacCready blushes and they both make their way into the lobby of the shop and split up to look around.

“So what are we looking for exactly? Some rare edition of Grognak the Barbarian?”

Dakota is behind the counter, bobby pin in hand, trying to pry something open. The Bobby pins snaps and he abandons his task with a huff to join MacCready, who is scanning the shelves.

“I know you’re trying to act annoyed but I can tell you’re secretly excited about this.”

MacCready shoves at Dakota’s shoulder playfully and knocks him into on of the shelves, where a few burnt editions of comics fall to the floor with a flat sound. Somewhere deeper in the store they can hear stirring. And groaning.

Dakota checks his pipboy.

“Shit, I should have expected that.”

There’s barely enough time to draw his pistol before the first feral is rounding the corner, heading straight for MacCready. Dakota blows its head off easily and MacCready takes out the next two that come charging through.

Once the three ferals are down they try to catch their breath and try to see if more are coming. There’s still sounds of shuffling in the building, and Dakota is scrolling through his pipboy checking for their locations.

“That’s it for this floor, they must all be upstairs.”

“Why is it always ferals? Why can’t it be like a friendly group of cats, waiting to be fed some expired pork and beans?” MacCready holsters his pistol and swings his rifle forward, checking the ammo.

“What are we even here for?”

Finally looking up from his pipboy, Dakota scans the room one last time before beginning to move towards the stairs, pistol holstered and rifle out, mirroring MacCready.

“The original Silver Shroud costume.”

MacCready blanks for a second, then sputters.

“And what’s some ghoul in Goodneighbor gonna do with _that_?”

“Who knows, but if it gets us info I’m willing if you are.” He notes the way MacCready is trying not to be too apparent scanning the covers of the comics for salvageable issues.

“And it looks like you’re just as interested in this as I am, if I’m not mistaken.”

The sniper looks away, embarrassed and huffs loudly.

“Look, I read a lot of those as a kid. The Silver Shroud was kind of my hero, I used to dream about meeting him someday. You know, stupid sh-stuff like that.”

“And what kinda dreams are we talking here? Nothing beyond pg13, I’m hoping?” Dakota teases, and MacCready huffs again, louder and more frustrated, and starts up the stairs to the next level.

“I’m not answering that.”

“You didn’t have to.”

 

 

 

The second floor is worse than the first; in various states of collapse and decay, and overrun with ferals. They find some colas and pause for a second to loot the nearby desks of caps and anything they might be able to salvage.

There a few doors that remain locked, much to the avail of Dakota and his many Bobby pins (and even kicking, when frustration sets in).

The third floor is eerily quiet, with only a couple ghoul’s waiting for them. MacCready leads, pistol drawn in front of him, while Dakota follows a step behind with the rifle gripped tightly in his hands. It’s not the ideal weapon for the narrow hallways, but if he’s going to learn he’ll need all the practice he can get.

As they creep up the stairs to the final floor, Dakota whispers that the final ghouls are all here and, unless the costume is hidden somewhere in the locked rooms Dakota can’t pick, it must be here.

The second the make it to the top of the stairs a ghoul throws itself at MacCready who, with a quick pistol whip, knocks it to the floor. As he drills a bullet into the skull of the downed feral, Dakota ducks into a side room to the right and hides behind a desk. There’s a terminal and soundboard inside that appears to be fully functioning and he frantically mashes the buttons and adjusts the controls as more ferals crawl out from the crates scattering what appears to be a soundstage. The spots blink on and a few of the ferals stutter, allowing Dakota and MacCready to each get a shot off before moving out of the way of the ghouls that were unaffected by the lights.

From the corner there’s an odd glow, different from the light of the spotlights overhead. Dakota watches, as if in slow motion, as a glowing feral rises up from where it’d been hiding and makes its way towards MacCready, who currently has his back turned towards it.

He has enough time for one shot before its on the other man, who is too distracted turning a regular feral into paste to notice the danger behind him. Dakota raises the rifle to his shoulder and repeats the motions he was taught; crosshairs on the neck, then aim slightly higher. By now MacCready notices the rifle aimed in his general direction, and before he can move Dakota pulls the trigger on the exhale; lodging a bullet directly into the glowing feral’s skull and splattering fire (as well as some radioactive material) onto the floor and MacCready.

There’s a moment of uncertainty as they wait for more ghouls to surface, or for one of the downed ferals to rise in a last ditch effort, but when there’s no movement save for their own labored breathing, they know it’s over.

“Well I don’t think I have to worry about you with that rifle.” MacCready comments with a smile, and makes a weak effort to brush some of the remains from the feral ghoul off his duster.

“Awww Mac, I’ve made you proud.” Dakota laughs, while he straps the rifle to his back and begins to search the room in earnest. The costume isn’t hard to find; its displayed proudly on a mannequin in front of an old green screen.

MacCready inhales sharply as he spots the costume and makes his way towards where it’s displayed. Dakota, on the other hand, is making short work of removing the garments from the mannequin.

“This must have been where they used to film the old Silver Shroud tv show. I would’ve loved to have seen those.”

His voice is filled with nostalgia and a level of care that Dakota doesn’t associate with the sniper.

“Maybe for a few hundred caps I’ll let you take the costume out for a test drive.”

“Maybe I’ll just take it from your pack when you’re sleeping.” MacCready counters, as Dakota rolls the ensemble up carefully and stows it away in his bag.

“I would catch you. Kinda hard to make a sneaky getaway dressed as a comic book character, don'tcha think?”

They both dissolve into laughter and after they’ve searched the remaining crates on the floor, plop down in the middle of the sound stage with a bag of potato crisps and some snack cakes. It’s not a decent meal by a long shot but after the chaotic day they’ve had its better than seeking out a cooking station, taking the risk with eating raw meat or attempting to start a fire.

MacCready is laid out on his back staring up at the spotlights when he sparks up another conversation.

“If you had told me in the Third Rail that I was gonna be on the set of The Silver Shroud, I wouldn’t have believed it.”

“And if you would have told me the mercenary I was hiring to help me keep my head attached to my body was gonna be a huge nerd I probably wouldn’t have believe it either.”

MacCready lobs the empty snack cakes wrapper at his companion’s head and laughs at the dull noise it makes when it ricochets off and falls to the floor. They settle down again and minutes pass before he hears a sigh from Dakota.

“You know, despite the whole being frozen over 200 years and trying to take on an establishment we don’t even know if we can fight, this isn’t so bad.”

“I’m touched.”

“And tomorrow we’re gonna give a superhero costume to a ghoul.”

There’s another piece of trash lobbed at Dakota’s head, but it misses this time.

“You ready to see Goodneighbor again, Mac?”

There’s a silence, but not an uncomfortable one, while MacCready thinks.

“Not really, we may just be playing fetch for every idiot in the Commonwealth right now, but I don’t regret taking this job.”

“I’m gonna take that as a confession that you’re finally starting to trust me.” Dakota smirks at him.

“I never said that.”

“You didn’t have to.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please accept this as an apology for how little happened in that last chapter. Here's to progress and never posting chapters at a reasonable time of day.  
> as an aside, Dakota's starting stats were 10 charisma, and 10 luck (with only 1 in agility and like 3 in strength if I recall correctly) so...that's where he's at


	7. Blockade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> MacCready wants to tell him more than anything just how much he understands, but this isn’t about him and his personal pursuits; being a mercenary always meant putting the job at hand and the caps before individual interests.  
> He would still have to wait his turn.

The sun has just set below the horizon when they make it to the front steps of Goodneighbor. The city is illuminated in its famous ropes of neon; signs looming large and bright over the chipped pavement of the streets. The neighborhood watch nods at them as they pass, and though they pay the two men no mind, MacCready still bristles uneasily. Goodneighbor is a safe haven for all sorts who wouldn’t be accepted elsewhere, and it’s for that very reason that they can never have their backs fully turned. Everyone here is dangerous.

Dakota leads, strolling through the alleyway beside the shops and making his way out into the main street of Goodneighbor. There’s a well-dressed ghoul leaning against the brick wall of one of the buildings, submachine gun in hand, who beckons them over. They know better than to disobey the requests of the neighborhood watch, and approach the ghoul.

“You here to see Hancock?” His voice is deep and raspy in the way that most ghoul’s voices are, MacCready always assumed it was due to the radiation damage on their vocal chords, but nobody he’s ever been around cared enough to look into it further than that.

Dakota appears nonchalant, and despite his usually impressive acting skills, MacCready can feel the nervous energy radiating off him. Ever since they’d left Hubris Comics he’d been raring to get the Silver Shroud’s costume into the hands of the ghoul who’d requested it. Was waiting with baited breath to see if that would lead to any information about the Glowing Sea or, better yet, the Institute. Anything that would lead him closer to answers and, of course, his nephew.

“I’ve got some errands to run but, if he’s in town I’ll be sure to stop by.” Regardless of the information some nerdy ghoul with a radio can get them, they need Hancock. Hancock’s eyes and ears all over the Commonwealth are sure to lead to something, this MacCready knows.

The ghoul of the neighborhood watch tells them that Hancock has made sure the whole watch knows that Dakota is free to drop by whenever, and that they’re free to do so at their leisure, so long as they don’t disrupt anything. The unspoken “don’t be stupid” is heavily implied.

Quickly breaking away from the patrolling ghoul, they continue their way toward the glowing sign of the Memory Den. It’s a place MacCready has only heard tale of, but never set foot in. He has no desire to dwell in the past, not when he still has so much in the present to set straight. But upon entering, he can see he’s not missing out on much; at least not on the surface. The worn interior is painted with dark colors, with couches that were probably considered luxurious at one point in time scattered throughout. Large glass pods, the main attraction for guests, are spaced at even increments throughout the room. All but one are empty at the moment.

There’s a woman in an extravagant gown lounged across one of the sofas, book in hand. She doesn’t even respond to the two out of place men in the establishment, but instead of disrupting her, Dakota ushers MacCready into a small room to the side, which houses an empty pod of its own. There’s a desk at the far end of the room where a frail looking ghoul (although MacCready had always thought most ghouls had a particular look of frailty to them, despite being anything but), in a too-large suit tinkering with an old world radio. Dakota clears his throat and they both watch as the ghoul startles, before turning in his chair to speak to them.

“Oh, it’s you! I was worried it was some of those goons coming back to mock me again.” MacCready is a bit taken aback by his tone of voice, less rasping than most ghouls and rather soft, though still carrying the same accent many locals have.

“I brought you a present, Connolly.” Dakota already has his rucksack open, and is unfurling the Silver Shroud costume him and MacCready had wrestled away from ferals in Hubris Comics just hours ago. Part of him is sad to watch their prize for a battle well fought be given away. But one look at the expression on the ghoul’s face changes his mind.

“This is…this is the authentic Silver Shroud costume!” The ghoul’s, Connolly Dakota had called him, entire demeanor brightens up immediately and he holds his hands out cautiously to accept the garments as if he were accepting a prestigious award. His sunken eyes dart back up to watch Dakota, who is exuding the same anxious energy as before.

“Connolly, we have a favor to ask of you.” Dakota starts slowly, testing the waters before making his pitch. The ghoul, still watching him with huge eyes, nods and urges him to continue.

“We need to know if you have any information that would help us cross the Glowing Sea, or if you know anything about the Institute. Your radio program could help us save a lot of lives.” MacCready can see where this is going; Dakota’s smooth voice and calm demeanor is great for convincing others to get what they want. Connolly, still clutching tight to the costume, looks enraptured by the idea.

“I mostly use the radio to play old broadcasts of The Silver Shroud,” the ghoul at least sounds apologetic at not being able to offer assistance at the moment. “But I can air information about local crime and that might lead somewhere!”

Dakota visibly deflates at the news. It’s clear that the vault dweller had been expecting some sort of breakthrough. MacCready lightly touches his arm in what he hopes is a gesture of support.

“And how exactly do we get away with disposing of criminals right under the noses of the neighborhood watch?”

He’s trying to keep his voice level and carefully neutral, but as their leads get further and further away, it’s hard to reamin positive. Connolly perks up like he’s just found the solution to all their problems, and is holding the Silver Shroud costume out to Dakota as if it holds all the answers.

“You can wear a disguise!” MacCready scoffs under his breath as his companion looks at the costume in genuine shock. “The real Silver Shroud putting a stop to crime throughout the Commonwealth! Standing up for what’s right! No one would stop you.”

As stupid as it sounds, the ghoul has a point. Most of the Commonwealth’s major players in crime have ties that link back to the Institute eventually, whether for or against their cause. And by going after those major players they’re sure to gain some worthwhile information. But taking out notorious criminals is bound to draw attention to themselves, so what better way to do it than incognito.

As incognito as impersonating a comic book character can be, that is.

Regardless, it’s the best option they have at the moment, so MacCready packs the costume back into Dakota’s discarded rucksack while the vault dweller receives some handmade calling cards and instructions for how to make their move. It’s pretty simple; check in on Connolly’s radio program now and again whenever they’re in range, and if he’s got information on a new lead, he’ll broadcast it. Then they’re to take out the target by whatever means necessary (while acting as the Silver Shroud, of course) and leave a calling card at the scene to complete the alibi.

After the plans are hashed out, Dakota bids Connolly farewell and makes his way out of the Memory Den at a clipped pace, not even checking to see if MacCready is tailing along behind him.

“Let’s go get a room at the Rexford for the evening, Hancock can wait until tomorrow.”

MacCready almost has to jog to keep up with Dakota as he head into the hotel, hands the caps for a single room over to the innkeeper and then makes his way upstairs without looking back once. Once inside the room he drops his pack unceremoniously, and begins to discard his guns, gloves and coat with it. He’s facing away from MacCready but the tense line of his shoulders betrays his emotions; he’s angry and frustrated at the lack of progress in finding his nephew.

“Boss,” The word is barely out of MacCready’s mouth before he’s cut off.

“Let’s just get to sleep, MacCready. It’ll be a busy day tomorrow.”

“Look, I know you’re pissed about this but we can’t just-” Dakota spins around and his usual soft demeanor is cold and closed off. MacCready’s sentence dies in his throat.

“I don’t want to talk about how I should just ‘have a little patience’ right now so, if you don’t mind, I’d like to get some rest.”

That pisses MacCready off, and he reaches a hand out to stop Dakota from turning back around and continuing his undressing. The vault dweller jolts at the contact, and MacCready lets go of him in a second, holding both his hands up in a placating gesture; not wanting to incite any further aggression within his companion.

“I get it, you want to do something to help. You’re tired of waiting around.” Trying to keep his voice level as Dakota stares down at him, MacCready tries to talk him down. How odd that MacCready, the act-first-talk-later merc would be the one trying to talk Dakota, who was a master of persuasion, out of a confrontation. It didn’t fit their personalities, or at least what MacCready has come to know and expect from Dakota, and they still had things they needed to get done before they attempt a suicide mission in the Glowing Sea unprepared. He can’t have Dakota storming out into danger just yet.

“Do you _really_ , MacCready?” His voice is eerily quiet in the small room.

“Do you understand how it feels to not be able to help the one person you were supposed to keep safe? To stand back and wait for all the puzzle pieces to fall into place while fuck all could be happening to him in there?” His anger is starting to fray at the seams, MacCready can tell. Replacing it is sadness and mounting exhaustion. Carefully he holds onto Dakota’s arms again, mirroring the grab he had made earlier, although this time the action is meant to ground him as compared to keeping him from closing himself off.

MacCready wants to tell him more than anything just how much he understands, but this isn’t about him and his personal pursuits; being a mercenary always meant putting the job at hand and the caps before individual interests. He would still have to wait his turn.

“We’ll help him. He’ll be safe.” MacCready reassures him, and he’s not sure if he’s trying to convince Dakota or himself. Maybe a bit of both.

“But we can’t do that if you’re dead. None of this matters if you don’t get to him in one piece. Shaun needs you, but he needs you at your best.”

Dakota physically deflates in MacCready’s hold; body sagging heavily with stress and exhaustion. It’s a shock he hasn’t already developed wrinkles or grey hairs from the stress the Commonwealth has put on him in such a short time.

He guides the vault dweller the few additional feet over to the bed, before separating to rid himself of his own extra garments and gear before bed. It had been an exhausting day for the both of them and it was most likely only going to get worse from here on out. MacCready hopes Hancock can at least provide them with a little information, or send people in search of leads if only so that Dakota could rest easier for just a moment.

As they both pile onto the single mattress, no need to argue about sleeping on the couch after they’d shared an even smaller pad in the sniper’s roost days ago, MacCready considers just how similar their circumstances are. He pictures the smiling face of the young boy he too is hoping to save, forced to leave behind and wait for the opportunity to make his move. How is it that the only person who may be able to understand and be sympathetic to his plight, this 200 year old vault dweller, would find him through pure chance?

Maybe Shaun isn’t the only one who needs Dakota anymore. Maybe MacCready needs him, if he’s going to save the son he left behind. And the thought of needing someone other than himself is more than a little terrifying, especially for someone like him who offers trusts so rarely.

But neither of them can do any of this alone, of that he’s certain.

Despite the confrontations, frustration and lack of measureable progress, MacCready falls asleep feeling more optimistic than he’s felt in a long while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So much more was going to happen this chapter and then....it took a slightly different turn than I was expecting. So the stuff I was planning to get to will have to wait until another chapter. Not a huge update, but I hope you enjoy this as I work on more! And thanks for everyone over on tumblr kicking my butt to get me to work on it.


	8. Progress

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dakota is gone.

There’s a particular silence to the hotel room when MacCready wakes up the next morning.

Not the kind of silence that stems from a lack of talking. No, the eerie kind of silence that only comes from being completely and totally alone. No other movements, no other voices, just the sounds of his own motions and breathing as they seem to echo through the space.

Dakota is gone.

It’s not exactly shocking, MacCready figures, given his circumstances. He doubts he’d have lasted as long before finally crumbling under the pressure of being in a world completely foreign to what he’d come to know.

There’s no use setting out to look for the other man. Dakota could be halfway to the Glowing Sea by now, maybe further if he started before morning. With any luck he’s still alive, not dead in a pile of rubble, or stuffed into a meat bag by super mutants. There’s almost no trace that Dakota even existed besides the fact that MacCready himself didn’t pay for the room he’s in; there are no supplies left out or food wrappers. No packages of those sticky sweet gumdrops that Dakota was always munching on. Nothing.

MacCready rolls off the mattress and starts packing his own gear; no use in staying when he could be out bargaining for the next job. The next paycheck. In no time flat he’s got his rucksack packed and rifle clean. As he reaches for the door handle to leave, it bursts open as a large figure hurries into the room.

It’s Dakota, of course.

His body still holds a tired posture like he’s running on only a few hours of sleep, of which MacCready does not doubt, but the warmth has returned to his eyes and he looks far less haggard than he did when they fought the previous night. He smells clean and his hair is slick and styled like he’s spent an extra amount of time on it. There’s a half-eaten mutfruit between his teeth and another whole one in the palm of his hand.

They make eye contact, MacCready frozen still reaching for the door, before Dakota hesitantly pulls the mutfruit stuffed in his mouth out with his free hand, staring at it like it’s going to help him break the uncomfortable silence, before offering the whole fruit to MacCready, as if it were a peace offering. There’s another pregnant pause before MacCready takes a slow bite and, now that his mouth is occupied with chewing, Dakota starts talking.

“There’s a shower down the hall for you to clean up if you’d like. Once you’re done we can head out to speak with Hancock. There’s no rush, of course.”

He’s a nervous talker, MacCready has established; someone who fills the uncomfortable silences with endless, nonsensical chatter. The exact opposite of MacCready.

“I thought you left.”

MacCready doesn’t mean for the statement to come off as harshly as it does, but there’s no beating around the bush. He’d already been planning to go back to the Third Rail to solicit more caps from people in need of a hired gun. Had resigned himself to that, in fact.  
  
Dakota, for what it’s worth, has the conscious to look guilty, but considering MacCready’s already halfway finished eating the only offering he’s brought, has nothing but words. Thankfully, words are a weapon he’s accustomed to wielding.

“I only stepped out to buy something a bit fresher than cram for us to eat. Did you really think I’d ditch you so quickly?” Whatever face MacCready is making must answer that question for him, because the vault dweller’s face drops and he puts a hand - thankfully the one not holding a mutfruit - on MacCready’s bicep. His grip on the mercenary’s upper arm is surprisingly strong; like he’s trying to keep MacCready from fleeing, which he very well might.

There’s a minute of silence between the two men, each bracing for the other to make some sort of move, whether to attack or to run neither is certain. MacCready tires of the stalemate and forces himself to relax under Dakota’s grip, hoping the action will calm the other.

“Look Mac, I-” the sentence stutters to a halt momentarily as he tries to find the right words.

“I don’t know how other jobs went for you. With the gunners or whatever. But I’m serious about seeing this shit through with you. So that means we’ll probably end up arguing or coming to blows more than once before we’re done, but if you’re willing to give it a shot than I am too.”

MacCready seems at least marginally placated by this arrangement. His eyes track across Dakota’s face as if waiting for him to retract his sentiment, and relaxes slightly when the moment never comes.

“As long as you don’t run off on a suicide mission. If you and your wallet get blown up, I don’t get paid.”

Dakota pouts dramatically, and MacCready feels his thumb beginning to rub in a circular, massaging motion where it’s gripped tightly around his arm, keeping him from moving. The action is surprisingly calming, and MacCready feels himself relaxing further into Dakota’s space.

“Aw Mac, I should’ve known you were only using me for my money!” With a slap to the merc’s arm, he releases him from the vice grip and the tension is broken in an instant. They’re back on equal footing again. Or as equal as a hired hitman and the source of their next paycheck can be.

“Anyways clean up if you’re going to so we can get going and turn the key in. We can’t keep Hancock waiting all day.”

 

 

 

To nobody’s surprise, on the top floor of his stronghold, Hancock is splayed out across a tattered couch flipping through an old Fallon’s catalogue, dog ear-ing pages seemingly at random. There’s a moment between the ghoul’s henchmen noticing the two intruders and when Hancock looks up from the pages to see them approaching.

“Dakota! I hadn’t heard from you, was worried a deathclaw ate you for lunch.” Magazine rolled into a clenched fist, Hancock pushes himself up into a sitting position and folds one leg over the other primly.

“I was only gone a week Hancock.”

“A lot can happen in a week.” Truer words have never been spoken.

MacCready feels the ghoul’s black eyes shift over to him.

“And MacCready? To whom do I owe the pleasure?” The mercenary isn’t close with Hancock, but they’re far from enemies. MacCready considers the ghoul to be a pretty standup guy as far as the Commonwealth is concerned. And he’s certainly done wonders for Goodneighbor since taking over. Nonetheless, he has no response for Hancock, so the ghoul turns his attention elsewhere.

“I knew you were looking for hired help but if I’d have known your preference was small and scrawny I would have volunteered myself.” A slow smile spreads across Hancock’s face and MacCready absentmindedly thinks, with a twinge of jealousy, that it’s slightly unnerving to see a ghoul with such bright, straight teeth. He tries to ignore the heat that rises in his face at Hancock’s teasing. It’s easier; he’s getting used to being the running joke between everyone Dakota meets.

“I wouldn’t know what to do with you, Hancock.” Dakota responds in a tone that is probably meant to be teasing as well, but sounds far too honest. Nobody knows what to do with Hancock. That’s why he’s best when he’s in charge.

“Most people don’t.”

The ghoul’s tone is comically nostalgic, and a laugh forces its way out of Dakota’s throat. It’s over just as quickly as it began but MacCready thinks he wouldn’t mind hearing Dakota laugh like that more often. Anything to keep the sadness, pain and anger from taking over as his primary emotions. Dakota doesn’t wear sadness well. Then again, nobody does.

Hancock claps his hands together and draws the focus of his two guests back to him. At the same time, out of his peripherals, MacCready can see his henchmen stiffen just slightly at the sudden noise.

“Anyways, what was it you boys needed from lil’ ol’ me?”

Dakota wastes no time detailing his objective. That he seeks a person in the depths of the Glowing Sea named Virgil who can get him access to the Institute; that the Institute has his nephew hostage, and could be doing god knows what with him at this very moment. He leaves out the parts about his time in the vault, or about his sister fighting her last fight to protect her son. But Hancock’s a smart man, he can probably guess why it’s the boy’s uncle and not a parent who is out to save him.

For the entirety of the tale, Hancock listens quietly; nodding when appropriate and letting the vault dweller get his story out uninterrupted. It’s a clinical, no frills exposition, but there’s no need for unnecessary emotions now. They need assistance and answers.

“Tell ya what,” Hancock begins, tapping a finger to his lip once Dakota has finished. “I know someone who can get you some hazmat suits. As long as you don’t punch any holes in those you should be clear.”

He pauses, gauging their reactions before continuing.

“Visibility might not be the best, but the only option besides that is going full ghoul and it’d be a shame to see that face melt off.” He’s speaking to Dakota, but once he finishes his gaze lands on MacCready, as if just remembering he’s there.

“You though, MacCready, you might make a handsome ghoul.”

MacCready shoots a glare at him from across the room.

“Or not, that face is fine too. Your loss.” Hancock is unfolding his catalog again, clearly tiring of the banter. They’ve gotten what information they need anyways.

“You kids better not have too much fun without me,” he comments, dog ear-ing another torn page, “I expect a formal invitation to knock around some raiders as soon as you get your shit sorted.”

Throwing a hand up in a quick wave as they turned to leave, Dakota calls back to Hancock.

“It a date, then!” MacCready can hear Hancock’s throaty laugh as they make their way back out into the alleys of Goodneighbor.

It’s late in the afternoon by now, considering their late start, and there’s not much else they can do at this point. Hancock told them it’d be at least a week to get the hazmat suits, and that the maker was someone in Diamond City.

Which meant they were stuck waiting again.

 

 

 

It’s too early retire back to the hotel, so Dakota and MacCready find themselves making a meal out of the horrible stale chips and flat beer in the Third Rail. Whitechapel Charlie is, as usual, a poor conversation partner, but Magnolia’s gentle crooning fills the silences between the lull of conversation.

Tomorrow they’ll most likely head back to Diamond City, meet back with Piper and Nick to see how their information hunt is going. Plus, Dakota mentioned having enough caps after their last salvage haul to possibly put a down payment on a vacant home in Diamond City. They wouldn’t have to room in hotels anymore. Or at least Dakota won’t, MacCready supposes. The vault dweller will finally have a place of his own in this world to call home and MacCready will still be searching for his.

It’s a small peace Dakota deserves, he figures, given the hardships he’s faced thus far. Though MacCready can hardly say he’s looking forward to having to pay for his own hotel rooms again.

But, for tonight at least, there’s no immediate worries.

While MacCready has been eavesdropping on conversations between other customers; listening for whatever tidbits he can squander that might lead to a new mission or the next caps stash, he can see Dakota across the room. Magnolia has just finished a set and is grabbing a drink before her next performance. She’s sitting at the barstool beside Dakota and, from MacCready vantage point across the room, he can see her painted nails dragging lightly down his arm as they speak in hushed tones.

Maybe it’s best that they’ll have separate lodgings. They’ve been cooped up together the entire span of their partnership so far and MacCready wonders how Dakota hasn’t tired of his company yet. If he’d take someone like Magnolia back to the hotel room with him if it wasn’t a shared room. What has he refrained from just to pander to MacCready’s comfort?

There’s a whisper in the far corner of the bar. Two names that burn in the pit of MacCready’s stomach. A location. For a meeting spot? A hideout? He doesn’t know. Doesn’t matter; a lead is a lead.

His feet lead him across the bar like the motion isn’t his own. Dakota senses him approaching and turns to meet him; beside him Magnolia turns as well, smiling when she sees MacCready.

“What’s up Mac?” The lopsided grin has returned to Dakota’s face, and MacCready’s not sure whether it’s due to the beers, or the company. Maybe both. Or possibly he’s still giddy with the idea of finally getting somewhere on his quest to rescue his nephew.

He doesn’t want to ruin Dakota’s good mood, but the news on his own personal mission is too pressing for MacCready to keep secret.

“I have a lead on Barnes and Winlock.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SORRY THIS CHAPTER WAS a huge struggle honestly. I just kept starting and stopping and deleting and rewriting until I thought you know what? Fuck it, this is for my own fun anyways so might as well just move on and Do Better Next Time.  
> As always thanks to people who have encouraged me to keep plugging away, I really appreciate it!


	9. Update

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I’m not sure if anyone actually follows this but, if so, sorry for spamming you

I actually restarted fallout 4 recently with the same sosu with intentions to finish just so I could continue writing this but I’m not sure if I should rewrite the earlier chapters so it makes more sense or just keep trekking ahead

I didn’t realize how much I missed maccready but I just wanted to let you know that maybe after two years I might finish something? Who knows

**Author's Note:**

> okay this is literally my first time writing ANY fic so please bear with me while I do my best. Also you can hit me up on tumblr at [potatocrisp](http://potatocrisp.tumblr.com/) where I'm constantly screaming about fallout 4 and posting art of dakota and maccready


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